


Enslaved

by Hero_of_Denerim



Series: Originals [3]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Elven Slave Origin, Gen, Past Abuse, Slave Origin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-17 01:30:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9298184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hero_of_Denerim/pseuds/Hero_of_Denerim
Summary: My attempt at an Elven Slave Origin.Shan was used to bad days. But even he had not expected one of them to spiral out of control this badly.





	

There was dirt underneath his fingernails. It wasn’t much, hardly more than a few crumbs of earth, but he knew that if he didn’t at least hide it, he would be punished. Shan had been punished for less.

As he trudged outside, he tried to scrape it out. There was not the tiniest space within the small, scrawny hut he called his home that he didn’t know by heart. He was used to not looking up by now. That way, he would less likely meet someone’s eyes. Uncomfortable questions at best, a night in the laboratories at worst… He preferred to keep his head low, and his gaze cast downwards. It was easier to focus on removing the dirt, anyway.

He had been awakened ruggedly. Not that he wasn’t used to it; every day he could remember he had been yanked from his thin straw sack in the early hours before sunrise, to stand at the ready if he was needed. The servants treated him like dirt, like an annoyance that took away from the time they had to complete their actual duties. And they could, because he was beneath them. Everyone had told him so often enough that he had begun to believe it himself.

He positioned himself outside his small cot. Exposed to whatever weather the Maker chose to send them, he waited until his master would wake. Today he was lucky, though; the sky was cloudy, and while the air was cool it was endurable. The crispness of the morning helped him to stay awake.

He had fallen asleep once when he had still been a child; even though many of his childhood memories were fuzzy at best, the punishment he had received was still keeping him awake in some nights.

But even storms with rain and lightning couldn’t be as bad that he would request to take shelter in the mansion. The thought of it alone made his stomach lurch. His master had offered it often enough, with this gleam in his eyes that made Shan’s skin crawl, but there was nothing that could make him enter that building on his own, free will. Even looking at it was enough to make him feel nauseous.

There were only a few times he had been summoned inside, he could count them on both of his hands; none of them had been pleasant. He had cried out to the Maker, begged Him to deliver him from his pain numerous times during each of those… sessions. It would have been a mercy compared to what had happened deep in his master’s cellars. Or his master’s study. But He had kept silent, and he had suffered. So he would stand outside.

As he did now. Shan watched the dark sky fade into a blueish grey, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as they grew heavy and tired from standing. He listened to the wind, and the noises it brought from the harbour. His master’s mansion lay as far from the port as Gwaren’s city walls allowed, but the sea breeze always carried a faint whiff of old fish. He knew his master disliked it, as he had disliked something in any city they had lived in. However, they hadn’t stayed anywhere closely as long as they had been here; he would know, having counted the days since they had arrived. Two thousand, one hundred and fifty-seven since today. The walls of his cot were covered in lines he had scratched into them.

It was one of the little things Shan was grateful for. Every time they had moved, he had lost what little stability he had gained. There weren’t any people he had to say his farewells to; the local staff never cared, the core stuff would move with them, and the only other people he knew were the men his master did business with. They were hardly better than him. Especially those who came from Tevinter, too. Their eyes were filled with a similar hungry curiosity his master showed, when he-

The memory alone had him shaking. His fingers had dug themselves into his palms, leaving marks in his soft skin. If he never went in there again it would be too soon!

As he tried to calm the panic that started to rise in his chest, the heavy oaken doors were pushed open forcefully. He didn’t look up, but stiffened. Only his master had the magic to move the door; well, his master, and he did, but that was a secret he had to keep to himself. He didn’t want to know what would happen if his master learnt of it.

His master’s steps were drowned out by loud barks. He couldn’t help but smile a little. Shartan was the only friend he’d ever known. The big mabari ran towards him, and threw herself on her back before his feet. When he didn’t move to rub her belly, even after she whined impatiently, she got back up. Sneezing indignantly, she pushed her side against his legs. If he hadn’t known his master was supervising the scene, he would have petted and played with her immediately.

His master had bought her when she had still been a pup, and had neglected her ever since. It had been necessary for someone of his position to own a wardog, he had once claimed, but he refused to do much more than rant about backwater Fereldan customs.

Shan, however, had grown close to her almost instantly. He had named her after the hero who had helped freeing his people from Tevinter. Of course, he only used her name when his master was out of earshot, thinking of her gave him strength; she was saving him a little each day, too. It had been a while later that he had discovered she was a female, but he had gotten used to calling her that, and so had she. The name stuck.

But his fear of punishment was stronger than his need to ground himself by burying his hands in her fur. Shartan would understand; she was smarter than many humans he had met. But he allowed himself to shift his weight, only a little, so that his leg pressed against her warm body. With her at his side, his life was a little more bearable.

Shan continued to wait in silence, his head bowed slightly so he would see nothing but his own feet, and Shartan’s paws. He felt his master’s gaze piercing him, taxing him to see if he broke. His master enjoyed seeing him this tense. Only punishing him brought him more joy…

“The shipment I’ve been waiting for has arrived. You will go to the port and pick it up.” Like an afterthought, he added dismissively, “You can take that bitch with you. And you will not dawdle, because I don’t like my time being wasted. Do you recall what happens when someone wastes my time, slave?”

His nasal voice was enough for his gut to clench in fear, but he didn’t budge. He knew what happened if he did.

“Yes, Master Caladrius,” he only answered tonelessly.

“Good. You will fare better if it stays that way.”

He seemed satisfied with the opportunity to threaten him subtly, and Shan listened to his steps echoing on the polished floor of the mansion. When the doors closed, he allowed himself to break his stiff posture. After scratching Shartan quickly behind her ears, he ran into his hut. He needed to get his staff before they left.

It wasn’t as much a staff as it was a branch that had fallen of a tree after a storm, but it worked to direct his magic if pressed. And it was small and natural enough that it seemed like something Shartan had dragged along to anyone who didn’t bother to look closer; it certainly had the chew marks to make his claim more believable.

Not that anyone asked, though. He avoided the alienage; the other elves would see him for what he was, and he couldn’t bear the disgust in their eyes. It was difficult enough for him to pretend he led a normal life as it was, without being reminded harshly that it wasn’t.

Humans on the other hand… Other humans hardly noticed him; most of those who did only scoffed at him. He liked them better than those who tried to compliment him, however, in an attempt of charity or out of pity he didn’t know, and he didn’t care. If they only spoke about something else than how they liked his leather collar. He knew that they thought it a piece of elven culture, ignorant as they were. He understood that they didn’t know, didn’t want to know, that the only thing it did was control him if his master wished it would. A single drop was all it took… But as long as he wasn’t walking around in clinking chains, no one cared.

There had been times when he had tried to tear off the collar, sinking his nails into his flesh in the vain hope of loosening it. The only thing it stopped were the comments, though. Even humans couldn’t talk about his collar while ignoring the claw marks at his throat. And while tearing at the leather brought temporary reprieve of the dread he always felt, he wasn’t free.

With Shartan at his heel, and the mansion disappearing from his view, it was easier to pretend that he was. Until he hadn’t picked up the delivery, he could ignore he had to return to his master eventually. At least for a while. He wouldn’t run away; in the end, he would always return.

Shan absent-mindedly traced the scars on his arms through the worn-out fabric of his tunic. Some of them had healed quickly, and were hardly more than fine pale lines against his skin; but others… Their gnarled and ugly tissue was a constant reminder of what would happen if he stepped out of line again. He would not try to run away. Never again.

He continued through Gwaren’s streets. The harbour was close; he could already hear the merchants who lined the pier pushing their goods. It was always buzzing with people there. He liked it. Sometimes, he pretended to be here on his own, browsing the stalls for things he would buy. Though the merchants treated him with contempt at best, he still enjoyed it.

Then, he was yanked into an alleyway. A surprised yelp escaped his throat, and he felt a hand pressed onto his mouth.

Shan struggled against his attacker, trying to wrench free; but he couldn’t bite the hand that kept his mouth shut, and his arms were angled in a way against his body that they were all but useless. And his attacker was stronger. Soundlessly, they dragged him into the shadowy net of small paths and alleys he had never even entered before.

Shartan barked and growled, but the grip around his torso didn’t loosen. He was starting to panic, and felt how the magic inside him flared; he didn’t want to use it, no one could know-

With a sharp outcry, he was released. Shan staggered away at the sudden loss of his restraints, but caught himself and turned.

Before him stood an elf, her dark brown hair tousled and shaggy, and her face grimacing in pain. Blood trickled from her left leg through her torn breeches. It looked suspiciously like bite marks. Mabari bite marks.

She backed further away at Shartan’s low growl, their eyes big in surprise. Shan quickly glanced over her again, a habit so ingrained into his being it was almost reflexive. The first thing he spotted were the daggers she wore at her belt.

His heart beat faster, and his throat was dry when he swallowed. She was a scrawny thing, Shartan and herself could take her down if they needed. His eyes darted between her and the alleyway behind her. Or they could just run for it; she wouldn’t be so desperate to mug them that she’d chase an angry mabari. Especially one who had bitten her mere minutes before.

“I wanted to help you, damnit!”

Shan looked back to her. She spat at his feet, her eyes narrowed.

“Or are you too good for my help? You’re his pet, aren’t you? He even taught you magic?”

He frowned at his hands; pure energy was swirling around them, and he hadn’t even noticed. If he acted this carelessly in front of his master…

He clenched his hands to fists, willing the magic to dissipate. His master couldn’t know. If he learnt that he was capable of using magic, he would find new ways to let him suffer, of that he was certain.

Two figures stepped out of the shadows. “I told you to just cut his throat, Fanhi,” the taller one said. “I bet he loves his master too much to simply leave him.”

Fanhi took a step back, doubt clouding her eyes. “But he’s one of our own, Girrat. I had to try-“

“He has never been one of us,” Girrat interrupted her coldly. His tone brooked no argument. “And that’s why we’ll gut him, and take his master’s coin.”

If they only knew how much he wanted to swap his life with theirs. He would rather live on the streets and fight for each scrap of food, than return to his master ever again. But looking at the determination in their eyes, he knew they wouldn’t listen.

Next to him, Shartan ducked down, readying herself for a fight. Her growl had become so low it was hardly audible. Before him, the other elves drew their daggers.

He inhaled deeply, grasping for the threads of the Fade. As the muggers ran towards him, he unleashed a blast of force to drive them back. As they struggled to keep their balance, Shartan jumped from his side and leaped at them.

Shan paused, watching in horror as the mabari sunk her teeth into Girrat’s arm, tearing at it until she tumbled back, under his tormented screams. She still had a bloodied lump of cloth in her maw. And flesh. He felt bile rising in his throat.

The others were similarly affected. The one who hadn’t spoken yet doubled over and retched, and Fanhi had dropped her daggers in shock. And Girrat… Blood gushed from the mauled limb where his arm had been before. He grabbed the stump with his other hand, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. The blood loss had weakened him severely, though, and he dropped to his knees, before he toppled over, face hitting the ground.

It wasn’t enough to end the assault. Seeing their companion drop down, devoid of movement or life, they turned back to him. Their faces were grimaces of hatred.

Shan readied himself, gripping his staff more tightly. He saw Shartan bare her teeth at them, too. With nothing more than a small wave of his staff, he sent out another blast of force.

He told himself he disliked fighting, as he felt the sensation of magic flowing through him. He told himself he disliked violence, as he watched Shartan snapped at their legs. He told himself he disliked hurting people, as he watched them loose their footing and tumble to the ground. But he couldn’t shake off the satisfaction of a fight he had just won, at least not immediately.

He stood over their battered bodies for a moment. And briefly, he felt strong; stronger than them, and he smiled. Until his thoughts returned to his master, and the way he used to smile during his experiments on him.

Shan turned, and fled the scene; it took him a while to escape from the labyrinth of side alleys until he reached the main road. He hoped that others wouldn’t find their bodies. Humans wouldn’t care about a few more dead elves, of that he was certain. But their bodies were too maimed for even them to ignore it. A manhunt would start the moment they found them.

He forced himself to breathe. No one had taken notice of the panicking elf and his mabari, just storming out of a small alleyway. He mingled with the other people walking towards the port, Shartan at his heels. If he quickly picked up the goods for his master, he would be back on his ground long before the bodies were even found. If they were found.

But he was more disturbed by the twisted enjoyment he had felt. Was he truly becoming his master’s pet, sharing his sadistic preferences? Was he that far gone? He shook his head, banning the thought from his mind. That wasn’t something he wanted to think about.

His feet had carried him to the port in the meantime. He scanned the ships anchoring here; one of them had brought whatever it was his master desired.

He didn’t have to search very long. Only one of the ships displayed enough of Tevinter style elements to be recognised as such by those who looked for it, without being too obvious for the larger crowd. The idea of his master receiving new things from his homeland wasn’t easy to swallow, though. It usually meant he wanted to try to inflict new ways of pain on him. Another thought that was unwelcome.

He continued to walk through the throng, keeping his head low, and his hands to his sides. Humans would ignore him if he appeared to be small and harmless. He still shot glances to his sides, peeking at interesting trinkets he of course couldn’t afford. But he liked to imagine that one day, he might.

One human stood out from the crowd. Where the others were pale, or tanned through work in the sun, his skin was dark; where the others had blond hair, his was black, and styled into a ponytail. Where the others wore simple attire, or working clothes, he wore armour.

Shan tried to walk past the stranger, to quickly return to his master’s property. The ship he was looking for was only a few stalls away. And one fight was enough for a day. Or his entire life; even if he won against a human who wasn’t only taller and stronger, but better equipped, too, he would be killed by the mob before he could even attempt to flee the port.

Shartan had different plans, it seemed. Barking happily, she all but jumped towards the stranger, and let him pet her.

“A noble dog you have here.” His voice was melodic, and kind. Shan didn’t recall anyone speaking to him like this before. A lump formed in his throat, and he only nodded in response.

This drew his attention towards Shan’s face, and his collar. The stranger’s eyes narrowed, causing Shan to swallow dryly. He knew. Of all the humans he could meet today, he met the one who recognised what he was, and who didn’t look like he would continue simply with his own business.

Shartan sneezed, and the man continued petting her, even as he looked around carefully. At least she was enjoying herself.

“Listen to me, please.” He lowered his voice so only Shan could hear him; speaking with so much sympathy he felt tears prickling in his eyes. “My name is Duncan, and- If you need help, I have the means to protect you-“

He ran past him before the man had finished his sentence. No. His master would know. Even though this Duncan looked strong, he couldn’t hope to best his master. He angrily wiped away the tears that had rolled down his cheek. His hand still trembled.

Not being able to free himself was one thing, and it was hard enough already. But being offered help to escape this life, and refusing it out of fear… What was only wrong with him?

He stopped before the Tevinter ship; Shartan had followed him, though her huff sounded frustrated. Shan turned, trying to spot Duncan in the crowd, almost hoping he had followed him, too. If he asked him again, he wasn’t sure he could resist his offer a second time. But he had vanished in the crowd of people browsing the wares instead.

“I said if you don’t buy anything, piss off, knife-ear. You’re bad for business.”

The heavily tattooed merchant looked down at him contemptuously. Over a feet taller, and with shoulders twice as broad as his own, he would be intimidating him even if he didn’t try to. His accent wasn’t Tevine, though.

“I- I’m here for Master Caladrius,” he explained himself, his gaze fixed on his wrought hands. He couldn’t be turned away empty handed; he was certain he wouldn’t survive the night if he did. “He sent me to pick up his order.”

The merchant grunted, and when Shan glimpsed up, he saw him reach under the makeshift counter behind him. He produced a small package, wrapped in spotted vellum, and tossed it at him. Shan scrambled to catch it carefully; returning empty handed would be better than delivering something broken.

“Then bring it to your master, rabbit. Hop along!” He grinned maliciously.

Shan ducked to the side, and dived back into the crowd, all while clutching the package to his chest. Now he only needed to return swiftly. He kept looking for Duncan in his way back, but he didn’t spot him. It was probably better that way; he still wasn’t sure what he would have done if he had met him again.

He didn’t stray from the main road on his way back, and was almost thankful when the mansion reappeared in view. But when one of his master’s servants beckoned him to follow her inside the mansion, he paused, and the tension was back. She would usually accept whatever it was he had been sent to fetch, and bring it to his master herself. Reluctantly, he followed her impatient wave.

“You’re late,” she hissed, as she closed the door behind them. “You know better than to make him wait!”

“I’m sorry, Callys,” he murmured back.

“Don’t address me, slave.” She threw him an irritated look, before she disappeared into a chamber to their side.

He winced at her sharp rebuke. And she was one of the servants more inclined to be kind to him… If Callys was this angry, something awful had happened.

Shan shuffled through the main corridor, trying his best to ignore the mean looks the other servants shot at him, and walked up the stairs. He hesitated knocking at his master’s study; flashbacks of previous visits threatened to overcome him. But he feared his master’s future wrath more than his past, and delaying their appointment was only one of many ways to draw his ire.

His raps were light against the door, but his master heard them nonetheless.

“Come in.”

Gently pressing against the wood, the door swung open, allowing him to enter his master’s study. While most of the mansion was only sparsely decorated, this room was filled with expensive furniture, artworks, and other unique fancies of his. And in its centre, leaning almost casually against his luxuriant desk, stood his master. A small smile played around his lips, though his eyes remained cool.

Shan cast his gaze down to his feet. He shouldn’t have looked at his master. His body had suffered and healed enough bruises for him to know that. Listening to the soft rustling of his master’s robes, he felt his tension build up even more inside him, the closer his master got.

Then, when he saw his master’s feet standing awfully close to his own, so close he felt his hot breath on his face, he stiffened, anticipating the bite of his master’s whip any second. But the pain didn’t come.

“Give me the package, slave.”

It would have sounded soft, if Shan hadn’t known his master wasn’t one to be sentimental, or to show feelings other than cruelty. He reluctantly handed out the parcel he had held tightly against his chest. With it gone, there was nothing left between them; not that keeping it would have helped him, the contrary was more likely, but it had occupied his hands at least. Now, they gripped the sides of his thighs so forcefully he felt his nails dig through his breeches into his flesh.

His master didn’t notice his inner peril, or didn’t care enough to comment on it. He instead carefully unwrapped the small package, all the while walking back to his desk, and placed its contents on his stone plated desk. Humming approvingly, he turned back to Shan, but didn’t move closer.

“Then we can finally move on, shall we?” He clasped his hands behind his back. “With my… insurance now arrived, there is a bigger venture I am interested in. I have been sick of this place since the day we have arrived, either way.” When Shan didn’t react, he added, “We will leave today, slave.”

“We need to leave?” he echoed meekly. He bit his tongue as soon as the words were out; the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. All he could hope for was that his master didn’t choose to return to his home. The thought alone made him nauseous. If they moved to Tevinter, he would lose what little protection and freedom he had left.

“Let us just say, it is always good to have friends in high places. From time to time, one has to remind them of it. We will be leaving for Denerim today. There is a favour I need to call in.”

Shartan, having been unusually quiet for the whole time, began to growl. Then, as she had done previously this day, she leaped towards his master, teeth bared. His master only flicked his wrist, hardly paying more attention to the giant dog; he seemed more annoyed than frightened as the elves had been this morning. The mabari was tossed throughout the room; she crashed against a wall and, taking a few shelves’ worth of décor with her, fell onto the ground. She didn’t move to get up.

A deafening outcry cut through the silence that had settled over them. Shan realised in horror that it had been him. His only friend… He deflated quickly, as his master nodded towards him. The grin that spread on his face made Shan only more uneasy; it promised new suffering. All the discipline and fear he had he used to keep himself from gaping at him, or worse…

Suddenly, hands restrained his arms. Before he could protest, a piece of cloth was stuffed into his mouth. He gagged, and his eyes went wide in panic; his master was grinning more widely now, visibly enjoying his discomfort. It was the last thing he saw before a sack was pulled over his head.

Someone picked him up, and blood rushed into his head. Ropes were bound around his wrists and ankles, chafing at his skin.

“Did you forget I despise disobedience? I shall remind you, gladly.”

Something pierced his arm, dug into the wound, and tore at it. He screamed in pain, but the cloth muffled most of it. His master chuckled next to him, and withdrew his blade. The pain stayed, however.

“This is only a small foretaste of what is to come. Your real punishment will have to wait, until we have arrived, I’m afraid. Now.” He snapped his fingers. “He will be shipped with my remaining property. There should be some crates left he can stay in.”

Before he could get used to being carried through the mansion, he was dropped. Out of reflex, he tried to stretch his legs, but he could hardly sit with his legs drawn up to his chest. Something hard was pressed onto his head, pushing it to the side.

Crate. He was in a crate.

Panic rushed over him like waves; he couldn’t breathe. There wasn’t enough air inside this crate! His hands, bound awkwardly onto his back, desperately clawed at the wooden wall of his tiny cell, but to no avail. He even tried to stem the lid open with his shoulder, but was only rewarded with more pain. And more fear.

He tried to focus on his breathing to distract himself. A serving girl had taught him techniques to calm himself when he was younger. She had disappeared shortly after, and though he didn’t want to think about what had happened to her so badly he had even repressed the memory of her name, her teachings were still etched into his mind.

Shan inhaled deeply, and shrouded himself in the fabric of the Fade. After a while he became calmer, and his breathing got more steady. He lost track of the time he stayed in this state of trance, but now it was a convenient side effect.

His position in the crate had changed, too; he had slid down the wall, angling his feet against the lid. Every now and then, he tried to pry it open.

He was more surprised than anything when it eventually worked. With his legs now dangling over the crate, he greedily sucked in the fresh air.

Now to get out of it. He swung his ankles across one of the crate’s edged, and rubbed his shackles against it until the rope was cut. Biting his cheek to suppress the pain from his already sore skin, he used what little strength he had left to knock over the crate with his now freed legs.

The loud crash that followed gave him pause; he waited and listened for a moment for anyone who might investigate the noise. But no one did.

Shan felt for the crate again, this time to release his arms. It didn’t take him long to cut these fetters, too. Immediately, he ripped the sack from his head, and spit out the cloth. Only then, he looked around.

The cargo bay was filled with other crates of various sizes, and carefully covered furniture. Through a few cracks in the ceiling fell light, softly illuminating different spots in the room. On one of those spots lay something that was different from the crates. It was a body. He inched closer, keeping his steps light as to not rouse whatever lay there. But he recognised the familiar built quickly, even in the dim light. Shartan.

He all but rushed towards her, shoving a shelf to the side; it met the ground, clattering loudly, just as he knelt beside the motionless mabari. Gently, he stroked the short fur that covered her flanks, while whispering soothingly. She still didn’t react.

He didn’t know how else he could help her. Without lifting his hands from her, he reached for the threads of the Fade, to weave them into a blanket of healing magic. He knew she disliked magic, but if that would bring her back… He continued petting her, scratching the spot behind her ears she liked so much, and massaging her side.

One of her ears flapped weakly. Tears in his eyes, he hugged her. He cast more minor healing spells, slowly coaxing her back to life. She huffed softly, and eventually nuzzled into his touch when he resumed petting her.

The more she reacted, the better he felt himself, he realised. And when he thought her strong enough, he stood up, though only reluctantly leaving her side. But he needed to find a way out of here, for both of them. Neither of them would be Caladrius’ property any longer.

After investigating the room briefly, he found a door that lead out of it. It was locked; he wasn’t surprised. He took a step back. Even though the thought of escaping him still made him feel uneasy, this time, it wouldn’t stop him. He had cowered long enough.

Shartan’s meek whines drove him over the edge. He put all his frustration, all his fear, all his hatred he had hid inside him into his magic, and with a loud outcry, he blasted the door out of its hinges.

Shartan padded to his side; she was still weakened, but it had to make to do to get them out of here. He hoped it would. After scratching her behind her ears, eliciting a feeble wiggle of her stumpy tail, he stepped over the wooden debris. The short, narrow corridor laying before him was as dimly lit as the room he had left, and just as empty.

But not for long; doors to the sides were opened, and goons stormed out of the rooms. Confused at the loud crash at first, they drew their weapons the moment they spotted him, standing over the remains of the door.

Shan looked around hectically, trying to find anything among the wooden parts he could use; there was hardly anything left than splinters. But something smooth was pressed into his palm. When he looked down, Shartan held a staff in her maw.

He gripped it, knowing she understood his thankful glance. Magic flowed through him instantly when he called for it, and he threw its raw force towards the mercenaries.

They staggered back, but weren’t thrown off balance. Their pause was all Shartan had been waiting for, however. She jumped into the fray, and dug her teeth into one of them, tearing at his leg.

With the thugs occupied with trying to ward her off, Shan threw more spells at them; he had to concentrate more to hit them and not Shartan, but casting with a staff that been crafted to channel magic made it easier. One blast after the other hit the mercenaries’ heads and hands. He couldn’t stop the satisfaction he felt seeing one of them drop to the floor lifelessly, and then another, until all of them lay on the ground. It lasted only briefly, however, before it was replaced by the horror about killing again and feeling superior because of it.

Fanhi’s words rang in his mind, and the look the other elves shot him. Before he killed them.

He quickly stepped over the bodies to distract himself. They needed to flee. He could think about her later, when both of them were far away from this place, and Caladrius. When they were safe.

Only a flight of creaking, wooden stairs was between them and the door, but he had gone too far already to turn tail now. Without bothering to check whether the door was locked in the first place, he thrusted his new staff towards it, and forced it open effortlessly.

He strode through the opening, Shartan at his heels, and found himself engulfed in a sea breeze, and sprayed with salty water. The sky was dark and clouded, but he could still make out the shapes of the ship deck he was now standing on.

Nothing was as sobering as the lights of Gwaren’s port in the distance. He quickly walked towards the railing facing the lights. It wasn’t too far yet, they could swim back if they jumped-

“Where do you think you’re going?”

The cold undertone had his heart skip a beat. He stubbornly kept watching Gwaren, trying to grip the railing, but his hands refused to comply. After an exasperated sigh, Shan felt his body turn slowly. The staff clattered onto the ground.

“Now, come back to me. It seems you just could not wait for our arrival. And my patience has run thin.”

Against his will, his feet dragged him towards Caladrius. And though his tongue had already formed a curt rebuke, words he felt he had to yell at him so he could feel free, his mouth wouldn’t open.

“I asked you to listen, slave.”

Caladrius snapped his fingers, and a small glowing sphere danced around his hand. He held a limp body with his other. Callys.

“Better, don’t you think?”

Shan could see his face, and the cruel smile that twisted his thin lips upwards. He stroked his beard, before he continued.

“I thought we have agreed that you would not show yourself until we arrived in Denerim.” His hand left his beard to unsheathe a dagger from his belt. He dropped Callys, who tumbled down. Her breath was shallow. “That I find you here now, is rather unfortunate. For you, of course. And for her.” The tip of the blade pierced Callys’ stomach. “I would have liked to keep you around for a bit longer. You were promising. You didn’t break as quickly as the others did.” Blood trickled onto the deck.

Shan shuddered; but his involuntary reaction made him realise Caladrius’ control on him was weakened. He would use that moment of carelessness.

He threw his arms forward, sending a shockwave towards him; Caladrius dissipated it with a wave. But he cocked his head, and didn’t attempt to cast another spell. Then he laughed.

“Do you really think I had not noticed your gift?” He sneered. “Why did you think I kept you, slave? Did you really think you could hide that from me? Pitiful.”

He flicked his hand again, and Shan watched blood rise from Callys’ body. A thin, scarlet vortex surrounded Caladrius, whose laughter grew louder manically.

Shan couldn’t even scream, as he was lifted into the air, and thrown into the sea. He succumbed quickly to the dark waves.

 

***

 

A rough tongue licked across his face. And again. And again.

He giggled despite himself, and opened his eyes. A joyful bark welcomed him, before Shartan’s weight pressed him into the ground.

“Good girl,” he whispered into her fur, and reached around her to hold her tight. She wiggled in response.

“You are awake.”

Shan released the mabari instantly; she had felt the sudden shift, and jumped down from him. But she didn’t stop wagging her tail.

He sprang to his feet, looking for his staff. When he didn’t find him, panic rushed over him.

“It’s okay. You’re safe here.”

Duncan’s soothing voice had him relax, if only a little. Shartan’s warm body next to him helped, too. He looked into Duncan’s warm, dark eyes, and tentatively answered his smile with his own.

“You’re safe with me,” Duncan repeated, without breaking his gaze. He placed his hand firmly on Shan’s shoulder. “You’ve freed yourself from your servitude, which is an impressive feat in itself. And as long as I can, I will gladly aid you in keeping it that way.”

Duncan seemed to hesitate, and Shan waited patiently. Some old habits die hard, though observing people was hardly a skill he couldn’t make use of, now that he was on his own.

On his own. He had never been on his own before. Shartan was with him, sure, but how could he provide for them?

“I can’t stay in Gwaren much longer, I’m afraid,” Duncan continued, interrupting his thoughts. “But I should be able to teach you a couple of skills you might need to get someplace else.”

“Where will you go?” The words blurted out of him, but the fear welling up inside him wasn’t because he had spoken out of turn; those times were over. But the thought of being alone was terrifying him.

Duncan hesitated before he answered. “I will return to the Warden forces in Ostagar. We need to prepare for a crucial battle; much will be at stake.” His eyes darkened, but it was gone in a heartbeat, and Shan wondered if he had seen it in the first place. “But you don’t need to worry, there should be enough time for me to show you some-“

“Can’t I come with you?” he interrupted him, leaving Duncan baffled. Having started his outburst, Shan found he couldn’t stop. “I- I can fight! I know magic, and… I can- I can help!”

“Very well.” Duncan raised his hands, still smiling. “I won’t turn down a promising, recruit as you are, especially if you’re willing. And after having pledged yourself to the Wardens, it is no organisation you can easily leave.”

“But it will be my choice.” He nodded sternly.

“That it is,” Duncan agreed. Shan could have sworn his smile had become just a little wider. “Then we should leave for Ostagar immediately. I will fill you in on everything you need to know on the way.”

**Author's Note:**

> Half-way through with my additional Origins. Yay :) !
> 
> For something I had to introduce a city that isn't actually playable just to make the existing places not too convoluted with new Origins, I'm content with the way I incorporated it in the game. Sometimes, the people are the key, aren't they?  
> Also, I always thought there should be more origins with a mage PC, so here is another interpretation of it; so every race that is able to use magic has a Circle Origin as well as a class-indifferent Origin with magic available. (Does that make sense?) During the games, we meet so many apostates (due to circumstance or conviction), and they are extremely important regarding the Chantry and its oppressive system. Why not have a Warden who has been trained in magic forbidden by the Chantry?  
> More Chantry-critical PCs, is all I'm saying.
> 
> Anyway.  
> Feel free to leave kudos, or tell me (kindly, please) how you liked it :) !


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